


From the Mines to the Surface

by fandom_susceptible



Series: Autobot Central Command [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cranky medic, Doctor Ratchet, Healing, Hurt, Mentions of background OCs, Physical Abuse, Slave Ironhide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 20:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_susceptible/pseuds/fandom_susceptible
Summary: Mining slave B-63 sees the light - and another mech - for the very first time after a severe injury in a mine collapse.  Medical supplies are scarce for slave frames, and his knee will never be the same; he'll never keep up like this.  A cranky medic takes pity on him.





	From the Mines to the Surface

**Author's Note:**

> Basically Hide's origin story, which sets the groundwork for his and Ratchet's broship later on. They're both young, but not particularly young, adults in this fic. About the Cybertronian equivalent of 30.
> 
> Obligatory Disclaimer I'm prone to forgetting: I don't own it. If I owned it I would not be posting this story on a fanfiction site.

     B-64 received a frantic ping from B-63, a warning, as the ground above him began to tremble.  Rumbles echoed in his audio receptors and he began to run toward the signals from his fellow miners. “Mine collapse!” A supervisor shouted, the sound waves shaking the already-unstable ground.  B-64’s vocalizer gave a static scream as stone and metal fell around him, crushing his legs.  One rock contacted his helm, deactivating his processor activity.

     The other slaves all flinched, noticing his signal drop.  Several others deeper in that section of the mine (B-65, B-66, and B-67) all dropped completely offline.  A rescue for the one faint signal that was B-64 would have to wait.  If the supervisors decided to rescue him at all.

 

     B-64 awoke somewhere he didn’t recognize.  He onlined his optics and flinched, offlining them immediately—too much light, too much light.  How was it even possible for there to be that much light?  The air was too thin.  He was on his back.  Scanners were reading _open space_ around him.  Scrap.

     “I know you’re awake.  Get those optics back on so I can see if they’re working properly.” Huh.  Must be a new supervisor.  Miners only spoke in pings.

     He obeyed, flinching immediately and dimming his responsiveness to the light. “Don’t do _that_.” A shape stomped into view.  B-64’s optics widened at his first glimpse of another Cybertronian other than their optics or visible energon lines.  This bot was mostly white, with red lines up and down his plating, and a chrome faceplate. “Turn that responsiveness back up or I won’t be able to fix it properly.”

     B-64 reluctantly obeyed, wincing from the pain.  The bot flashed several more lights in his optics, making him flinch even more.  Finally it was over at the bot motioned for him to sit up.  He just looked at this bot blankly.

     The supervisor vented in exasperation. “Sit up.” He said gruffly.

    B-64 sat up immediately, wincing in anticipation of the lash over his shoulders.  There was no blow, and he peeked over at the white supervisor, confused.

     The bot had a hand over his face and was venting softly. “Look, I’m not a supervisor and I’m not going to whip you.” He said shortly. “I’m a medic—that’s a bot who fixes other bots.  My name—designation—is Ratchet.  You were brought to me due to a mining accident that crushed your legs.  I had to practically rebuild them and you’ve been discharged to my custody on my recommendation.”

     B-64 stared at him blankly.

     The medic vented again. “You were hurt and now you’re out of the mines permanently.  This . . .” He gestured around. “Is part of the surface.” Looking intently at B-64, he asked, “Can you speak, or are you one of those that really _didn’t_ learn?  You won’t be punished for speaking here.”

     The miner’s optics widened.  He had never been permitted to speak before.  His gaze darted to the floor and then back up. “Ah . . . kin talk little.” He said haltingly.

     Ratchet nodded as if satisfied. “Come with me, then.  Since you can speak you don’t need to go to a special reintegration facility.  All you need is a little guidance.” He beckoned. “Come on, then, Ironhide.”

     B-64 looked over his shoulder abruptly, wondering who this Ironhide was and when he had gotten there.  There was an exasperated vent from Ratchet. “B-64.  I’m not calling you a series of letters and numbers.” B-64 looked back at him, confused, having not seen Ironhide. “Your armor was tougher than the average miner, and if you weren’t as tough as you are, I couldn’t have pulled you through.  I’m calling you Ironhide.”

     The newly named Ironhide recalibrated his optics and then looked down at himself. “Me?” He asked.

     “Yes, you.  Now move it or I’m leaving you here!”

     Ironhide hopped off the berth and trotted after him, suppressing his usual rebellion.  Ratchet had helped him, fixed him.  He owed the medic a little cooperation at least.

**Author's Note:**

> As for Ironhide's accent, it's Texan. All slaves of his region speak this way. Mainly because he has a slight drawl in the movies and I want to and this fandom has a multiverse so hey in one level of it every single fanfic ever could be canon.


End file.
